Salt Water by Josep Pla

Author:Josep Pla [Pla, Josep]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Steerforth Press
Published: 2020-12-02T00:00:00+00:00

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We were anchored by the wall in the east corner of the harbor, the only spot slightly sheltered from the graceful sweep of the bay. The ugly bulk of the Aragó marine biology laboratory stood at the other end of the beach. The town lay in between: opposite us, the fishermen’s quarter was steep, bustling and picturesque; beyond that Banyuls becomes bourgeois, with an array of fine houses and cafés. It seemed to me that the tall plane tree – now rather shabby – in front of Madame Py’s café must provide delightful shade in the summer and be the right place to have an aperitif. Beyond that is the channel made by the riera and several buildings that looked like wine warehouses.

So just as Cerbère is a theatrical backcloth, the part of Banyuls that overlooks the beach is a Catalan town bereft of old features – a community displaced from the interior to the marina when the sea became a safe place.

We drank coffee and I shaved on deck. While shaving, I looked at the mountains surrounding the funnel of Banyuls. The geology of the gulf of La Selva never changes: a scattering of dark slate with a reddish glow, bovine-shaped mountains, long, gentle humps, covered in scree, vineyards beautifully cultivated on terraces supported by drystone walls. When I’d finished my shave, I washed my face in the fountain in the lower part of the harbor wall behind the sardine boats that had been pulled up on the beach. A seventeen-year-old girl stood by the fountain, a splendidly curvaceous young woman. She was waving her hands in the air and her clothing was extremely skimpy.

“Aren’t we cold?” I asked.

“I’m never cold!” she answered, a broad smile on her white teeth, moist lips and almond eyes. She had a magnificent head of dark golden hair that radiated youthful energy. I thought she could have served as the model for the Venus of the Pyrenees that people had always dreamed of. She filled her pitchers while resting her arm on the rim of the fountain, with her back to me. What a marvelous back! What Fustel de Coulanges said about the Venus came to mind: that the whole of ancient culture simmered on her flanks.

I reckoned it was extremely pleasant to be in a country where you encountered a Venus by a fountain in the early morning.

When I returned to the Mestral with the melancholy produced by a vision of total beauty, I found Baldiri and Saldet arguing. Or rather, Baldiri was launching into an angry tirade against his brother-in-law.

“This coffee you’ve made,” he was telling him, “is like bilge water. It’s worthless as coffee. It’s all very well your killing off your wife and children with catarrh so you could buy an olive grove and vineyard, but you should show a little more consideration toward me…”

Saldet smiled at him in agreement, slyly so; you couldn’t tell if he was actually agreeing with Baldiri or if he was defending himself.

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